


Kimi Hamuti

by PaapakaWalk, paperjamBipper



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Snark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-12-27 07:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12076356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaapakaWalk/pseuds/PaapakaWalk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperjamBipper/pseuds/paperjamBipper
Summary: Kimi Hamuti- it means "to make amends" in Te Reo Māori.Set in an AU where Te Kā refuses to take her heart back. Instead, she sends Maui out to reconcile with every being he has ever wronged in his immortal lifetime. To make sure he actually complies with what she says, Te Kā places a curse on Moana. Until Maui has reconciled witheveryone, Moana will suffer and feel all of the collective pain of those he needs to make amends with. To try and talk Te Kā into letting Moana stay home, he suggests that he bring someone who despises him instead, and mentions Tamatoa by name - only as a joking suggestion.But due to a very poor miscommunication error on Maui's part, Te Ka caves inimmediately. So, instead of letting Maui get his way and sending Moana home, Te Kā instead insists that he must now travel with both MoanaandTamatoa, trapping them in a situation wherenoneof them can be happy.





	1. Prologue

An impulsive decision, a blinding flash of light… and just like that, his hook is _gone_.

The kickback is enough to send him careening towards a small rock jutting out of the sea, and when he looks towards his hook it’s nothing more than a hilt and a pile of ash. Sharp pain shoots across his chest as he stares at his prized possession, his gift from Tangaroa; but he shakes it off. As long as the attack was enough to buy Moana enough time to find the spiral, then, well, his hook really isn’t his biggest concern at the moment.

But apparently he underestimated the power his cracked hook had, because when Te Kā stands back up a few seconds later, she’s grimacing and gripping tightly at her chest – where his hook had apparently chipped away at multiple layers of hardened lava.

Māui curses silently to himself, and slowly pushes himself back up to his feet to challenge Te Kā again. It’s not like he has any chance without his hook, but if he can buy Moana even _one minute_ of extra time so she can restore the Heart to Te Fiti, then Te Kā won’t exactly be a problem anymore.

Besides, _he’s_ the one Te Kā’s after, right? He’s the one Te Kā tried to fight for the Heart when he stole it a thousand years ago, wasn’t he? It’s not like Te Kā would have any reason to show interest in Moana at any point other than when she was on the same boat as him, and all Moana’s doing is trying to restore the Heart. Māui’s not sure Te Kā is even _aware_ that Moana’s the one who has the Heart at all.

But when Māui chances a glance up at Te Kā as he’s standing to his feet, he suddenly realizes that he _couldn’t be further from the truth if he tried._ Instead of focusing all of her rage on him, or using his broken hook as an opportunity to smite him on the spot, Te Kā is instead directing ounce of her attention onto Moana.

So he picks up the broken hilt of his hook and _slams_ it back down onto the rock, just for extra effect, and calls out to Te Kā. She freezes instantly at the sound of his voice, and contorts herself to face him so quickly that she accidentally sends some of her lava falling into the water below.

As soon as he’s sure he’s got her undivided attention, Māui immediately drops into a _haka,_ challenging Te Kā to pay attention only to him, to attack him, to _smite_ him, because better _him_ than Moana. He’d rather die a thousand fiery deaths at the hands of Te Kā than watch Moana suffer underneath her wrath – because, after all, it’s _his_ fault they’re here, _his_ fault things got this far out of hand–

But before Te Kā can swing her hand down to scorch him alive, he sees a tiny flash of bright green out of the corner of his eye. Evidently Te Kā has seen it too, because she screeches to a halt, the ball of fire in her palm disintegrating into the water with a weak splash _._ Gone in an instant is her attention on him, and when Māui turns to see what Te Kā’s looking at he spots Moana standing on the very peak of Te Fiti’s blackened shore. She’s holding the Heart up in the air, and there’s enough bright light flashing from it to be spotted from the barrier islands.  

At first Māui thinks she only did that to stop Te Kā from killing him, and that she’ll go right back to the spiral to put the Heart back, but instead of turning around Moana begins to walk _back down_ the shore towards the ocean. Crazy little mortal, he thinks, beginning to grow alarmed. _What_ is she plotting?

“Moana!” he shouts in an attempt to catch her attention, but she doesn’t seem to hear a single word he’s saying. Instead, she pauses right where the ocean splashes against the shore. One word to the ocean has it splitting itself in half before her, giving Moana a direct path to the barrier island Te Kā seems to be trapped on.

The moment Te Kā watches the ocean part in two, she roars, and slams herself down onto the now-dry ground, tearing up the very earth itself as she claws her way towards Moana. Māui’s about to grab his hook and turn into a hawk _just_ so he can keep watch and make sure Te Kā isn’t going to burn Moana to a crisp – but stops and curses to himself when he remembers that his hook isn’t exactly _functional_.

Distantly, if he listens closely enough, Māui thinks he can hear the sound of Moana _singing._ And if he didn’t know any better, if this were a far, far less dangerous situation than the one she’s willingly putting herself in, Māui could swear she was singing a lullaby, because he’s not sure he’s ever heard anyone use such a soft and gentle voice for anything other than for putting their feisty child to bed at night.

Huh. He never actually considered that lulling Te Kā into submission would actually work, but if there’s anyone out there who could manage, it’d be Moana.

So when Te Kā comes to a halt in front of the tall rock Moana planted herself on, but doesn’t use the close distance to kill her and get it over with, it comes to no surprise to Māui.

What happens _after_ she stops, however, that’s the part that shocks Māui.

Instead of bowing her head to Moana to speak to her, or even dissipating the lava boiling inside her to allow Moana to step closer to her so she can speak, Te Kā instead throws her head back and begins roaring in laughter. Raw, genuinely amused laughter.

Māui’s not sure why this rubs him _just_ the wrong way, but it does.

And he’s not sure why Te Ka’s ominous laughter has him leaping off the rock he was standing on, or why it has him sprinting towards where Te Kā and Moana are standing, but he does.

It’s probably not a great idea, Māui realizes, sprinting right towards the lava demon who tried to kill him _at least_ twice, but he does, and the closer he gets to them the more of their apparent conversation he can begin to make out.

“…You really think that’s all it’s going to take? Some puny meatbag simply handing the Heart back, telling me she _forgives_ _me_ for the way _I’ve_ been behaving for the past thousand years?”

A pause, as Moana, taken aback by the lava demon’s words, collects herself.

“But…” she starts. “But you’re only behaving this way because your Heart was stolen! I know who you really are, Te Kā, and this isn’t the real you!”

Another deep, grating laugh bubbles out of Te Kā.  “Maybe a thousand years ago, _child._ I _know_ who I _truly am._ I’m Te Fiti, Giver of Life, and Goddess of all things green and beautiful. You know, the whole works,” she spits out mockingly. “Or, well, that’s what I _used_ to be. Now I’m Te Kā, Goddess of Fire and Lava – and bringer of _death_ to all things green and beautiful,” she hisses, clearly amused by her own joke. “And know something else, meatbag? I don’t _want_ the Heart anymore. It’s useless to me, and you’ve got good ol’ _Tangaroa_ to thank for that. Instead of simply bringing my heart back to me myself – and don’t you _dare_ try to argue that the ocean wasn’t capable, because I just saw it _part for you –_ he decided to wait to find some special _Chosen One_ to bring it back for me. And not just any Chosen One, oh no. Apparently Tangaroa thought it’d be a great idea to send a _child_ to come to my rescue.”

Moana opens her mouth, but is cut off by Te Kā’s scoff. “And you want to know what else? What’s so _great_ about some _Chosen One_ coming to look for me instead of, oh, I don’t know, my own _father_ bringing it back to me instead?” she pauses for a second, but doesn’t give Moana time to respond. “You’re only here because you _have to be._ Oh, I can imagine the _real_ reason you’re here. Let me guess. Home island crumbling to pieces? People are dying because there’s no food left?” she pauses, and grins viciously when Moana takes an awkward half-step backwards.

“I–” Moana begins, but wavers and falls silent.

“Bingo. You don’t care about me. You _never_ did.  Nobody on this gods-forsaken planet has ever cared about me. So you know what? _No,_ I’m not taking the Heart back. You know why? Because none of it was my fault to begin with. This isn’t my problem to fix, or to care about. I’m going to keep letting this darkness spread until it wipes out every island in the Pacific. And when everyone needs somebody to blame, somebody to get _really_ angry at for what happened to their homes… you know where they’re going to turn?”

Te Kā pivots, and before Māui’s even aware of the situation she’s facing directly towards him. “ _You,”_ she spits. “You’re the one who stole the Heart in the first place, so you’re the one who should be responsible for the consequences of your actions. And don’t even bother trying to smooth-talk your way out of this one, because who’s going to believe whatever story you come up with, anyway? _Moana?_ It’s not like she’ll want to see you after this whole ordeal is over… especially once her island is wiped off the face of the earth.”

A wicked grin spreads across Te Kā’s face. “As a matter of fact, maybe I should kill her, just to make it harder for you to find someone who will support you after this mess is over with.”

She pivots back around to face Moana – but before she even raises her arm, Te Kā freezes as another idea hits her.

“No, you know what? I’ve got a _better_ idea. I’ll take the Heart back; I’ll restore life to your islands, but only under _one_ condition.”

“Anything,” Moana says, desperation writ large in her voice.

Te Kā grins, and it’s the most terrifying thing Māui has ever seen. “You sail home, you let me kill Māui, and you let his stories go out with him. What do you say, _Chosen One?”_

There’s a pause, and past the smoke and bright molten lava of Te Kā’s form, Māui can see Moana taking a step forward towards Te Kā. For the briefest, _briefest_ of seconds, Māui’s considering asking Moana what she’s doing, but before he can even open his mouth Moana leaps forward off the rock to stand in front of him, arms spread out in a protective gesture.

“ _No,”_ Moana grits out without hesitation, with just as much hardness in her tone as Te Kā’s. “I would _never._ I know he can be pretty selfish and pig-headed sometimes, but he doesn’t deserve this. If it weren’t for him, I never would’ve made it across the sea. He’s the one who taught me to sail.”

Moana shakes her head, but she refuses to drop her protective gesture from around Māui. “If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be alive right now. He sacrificed his hook for my life, Te Kā. His _hook._ If that doesn’t mean a _thing_ to you, if you still think that he’s not capable of changing for the better after witnessing that, I don’t know what _would._ ” Moana pauses in her little speech, and it’s only in this short pause that Māui realizes that Moana’s panting. But she either doesn’t realize she’s doing it, or she doesn’t care, because she continues on anyway.

“Māui doesn’t deserve to die for his wrongdoings. He’s capable of change. He’s _good_ on the inside, Te Kā. I know he is. I’ve seen it myself. There has to be some other way. There has to be a way for him to redeem himself. Because as much as I’d love to restore my island, and all of those other islands out there…” she pauses, and glances down at the Heart of Te Fiti still pulsing in her hand. “I could never live with myself knowing that I just _handed_ Māui over to get killed like that. There has to be some other way. Please,” she says, balling her hands up into fists. “ _Please.”_

Te Kā eyes Moana, the way she’s shielding Māui from her, the way she’s _protecting_ him, and snorts, a thin jet of smoke issuing from her mouth.

“You really think that _mini-god_ is worth protecting? Do you really think that he, a trickster, is capable of changing for the better? Your precious island isn’t the only one affected by the curse. I’m surprised to see you still standing at all, as a matter of fact, seeing as most of the islands the curse has reached are simply piles of ash scattered around the Pacific. _He_ caused all of this, Moana, and _he’s_ done nothing to stop it. He just sat around, watching everything crumble around him, because he _doesn’t care._ Even now! Was _Māui_ the one who tried to give my heart back? Was _he_ the one who apologized for all of my hurt and suffering over the last millennium? _No!_ He just sat back and expected a _human,_ of all things, to do it for him! You can’t defend him for his wrong-doings. You can’t just tell him that everything’s going to be okay because he’s a _good person._ He’s been doing this for millennia. Far, _far_ before you were even _conceived._ He screws up, angers a god or two, and then _never_ faces the consequences for it. He comes up with some pathetic excuse to make up for it, and he _always_ ends up getting away with it – just because he _meant well,_ or just because the Gods are still soft on him and remember the times when he was still an unwanted, unloved little runt. So Has it ever gotten through to that massive head of his that maybe he should just leave things be? _No._ He just shrugs it off, waits a century or two, and then screws up again. And where does that leave you meatbags? Humanity has been forced to bear the consequences that aren’t even _yours._ This is no different. You restore my heart, he gets off scot-free, and in few centuries he’s going to make the _same exact mistake_ all over again.”

Te Kā pauses to glance at the duo, and doesn’t miss at _all_ the way Moana refuses to stand down, or the way that she shifts to block Te Kā’s path to Māui whenever the lava demon so as much tilts her head. A new idea comes to Te Kā at the sight, and Te Kā finds herself fighting back a malicious grin. Oh, this will be _so_ much better than simply ending Māui’s life right away. “You don’t want me to kill him? You insist he is capable of good? Fine. I’ll humor you. I won’t kill him. _But,_ to assure this kind of thing will not happen again, he is to journey across the sea and right _every wrong_ he has _ever_ committed. Every god he’s ever angered, every being he’s ever wronged, he must reconcile with _every single one of them._ Then, and only then, will I forgive him – only then will I accept my heart back.” This time Te Kā actually does smile.

“And to assure he actually leaves, _you,_ Moana, are to accompany him. Because this will likely take centuries, I will bestow upon you a gift. You will no longer age, nor fall ill. You will never die. _However,_ until Māui finishes what he sets out to do, you will suffer _immensely._ You will feel the pain of everyone he has ever wronged, _including me,_ and this curse _will not_ be lifted until he has reconciled with them all. Do we have a deal?” Te Kā asks.

Before Moana can even open her mouth to say another word, Māui shoves her arm out of the way and turns to stand in front of _her,_ lifting his arms up in the protective gesture she had been using on him. “Are you _insane?”_ he grits out. “I’m not dragging _Moana_ into this! Even if she _does_ become immortal, even if she wouldn’t _technically_ be able to die, do you know how many people out there want _me_ dead? Do you have any clue how many people I’ve gotten in trouble with? Forcing _Moana_ to feel all of their collective pain for all eternity? _That alone_ could kill her, and that’s not even _including_ what could happen when we actually encounter these guys!”

Māui shakes his head at himself, angrily, and takes a deep breath. This is the _last_ thing he needs right now, to anger Te Kā even further, and if he keeps this up, keeps attacking her when she’s vulnerable, then, well, for all he knows, she could put Moana through something _worse,_ just to spite him. She could force Moana to feel all of their collective hatred towards him. She could place a permanent curse on Motunui that would remain even after all of the other islands are freed.

She could kill Moana right here, right _now_ , without so much as the blink of an eye.

Māui sighs.

“Look, I get it! I really do! You’re angry at me, a lot of people out there are angry at me, and you want me to fix my mistakes. Done! I’ll leave right now. I’ll even come back to check in and see how you’re doing every few centuries, if you’d like. But _please,_ Te Kā, leave Moana out of this. What has she ever done to you? Tried to help you? Offered to give your heart back to you? She doesn’t deserve any of this.”

There’s a short pause, and Māui almost thinks that Te Kā’s considering his point, but she just shakes her head and cracks a grin horrifying enough to drain the color from Māui’s face.

“ _That,_ mini-god, is exactly why she _does_ deserve it. It’s not about what she’s done for me. It’s about what she’s done for _you._ You’re attached to her. She’s somebody you like, no? The reason _poor Moana_ has to go through all of this is so I can be sure you actually leave. Besides…” she draws out the word in a way that makes Māui shudder, “you’re too late, little one. The curse has already been placed. It’ll take effect soon enough. She _will_ suffer, no matter what you do. And the only way to end her suffering is to accomplish _exactly_ what I’ve asked of you.”

Te Kā stops, and pivots, like she’s planning to return to her barrier island.

“Wait!” Māui shouts suddenly as an idea comes to him, and Te Kā stops. “Wouldn’t that be a little, I dunno, _boring_ for you?”

Te Kā blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Me, sailing around with Moana,” Māui explains. “She’s the only friend I’ve got. Possibly the only person in _the entire Pacific_ who can stand to be around me. Curse or no, don’t you think it’s possible that I could end up _enjoying_ myself, at one point or another?”

He’d never end up having a good time, truthfully, if he ended up stuck on a boat with Moana if she was going to end up miserable and in pain the entire time. But if he could just think of something, _someone else_ to come with him instead of Moana – if he could figure out how to get Te Kā to lift the curse so that Moana gets to home and be safe and sound for the rest of her life… Then, well, being stuck on a boat for the next millennia with _anyone_ would be enjoyable by comparison.

And he means _anyone_.

Te Kā looks like she’s listening, so Māui clears his throat. “Why not send me off with someone who can’t stand me? Wouldn’t that be more fun to watch? Me, stuck on a boat with somebody who hates my guts?” Māui grins, trying as hard as he can to hide the true reason behind his suggestion. “I could probably list a good number off the top of my head. A lone survivor on a dead island? The spirit of some monster I killed a few centuries ago? Tamatoa, even! Why send me off with my best and only friend? Wouldn’t that be a little, I don’t know, _vanilla_ of you?”

A long pause, and this time Te Kā actually looks like she’s seriously considering his words. Finally, she hisses in annoyance. “As much as it _pains_ me to admit this, you do make a good point. Tamatoa, eh? I remember hearing of the falling out between you and that tiny creeping crustacean spawn. The legends say you two can’t stand each other to this _very day_! Now that sounds like something I’d just _love_ to see play out.”

Māui’s about to sigh in relief, and he’s about to drop his protective gesture from around Moana, he really is, but then Te Kā speaks again.

“They will _both_ accompany you. Your pathetic human _pet,_ if you will, _as_ well as Tamatoa.” A pause. “But, seeing as he has grown to a size far too massive to fit on a human canoe, I shall put a curse on him, too. For the entire duration of the trip, Tamatoa will be trapped in the body of a man. Once the mission is complete, he will return to his normal form and size and will once more return to his place in Lalotai. But if you _refuse_ , mini-god…” She glares at him. “I will kill both you _and_ Moana on the spot. What do you say, demigod? Do we have a deal?”

Silence.

If he doesn’t leave, he dies, and Moana dies…  Besides the fact that she’s his _best friend_ , well… knowing how _wonderfully accurate_ human legends about him are, there’s a chance word will spread that it was all his fault. Knowing Te Kā, she’ll probably be the one to spread the story herself. The story of how the once great demigod Māui tried to sacrifice a human girl’s life to restore the Heart of Te Fiti, but still failed anyway, getting himself killed in the process. He’d be a laughingstock. Everyone over on Motunui would hate him, and it wouldn’t be long before his more heroic stories would be lost to the sea forever.

On the other hand, he leaves, and forces Moana to stick around in agony for the next thousand or so years. He’s going to be sailing around quite possibly for the rest of his immortal life trying to fix the wrongs he already sought forgiveness for centuries ago.  He’s going to be stuck on a boat with _Tamatoa,_ of all people, and he wouldn’t even be able to defend himself if the crab tried to pull something funny, because his hook has been–

Wait. His _hook._

“What about my hook?” Māui asks, not quite daring to look Te Kā in the eyes. Eyes? Lava cavities? Whatever.

“What _about_ your hook?” Te Kā spits back. “It’s gone. I destroyed it.”

“Exactly!” Māui argues back immediately. “It’s gone. I don’t have it anymore. And seeing as that I _used_ my hook for most of the problems I’ve caused with the Gods, wouldn’t it make sense that I would need it to reconcile with them as well? All of my shapeshifting powers came from that hook, Te Kā. Everyone knows this. So if I _don’t_ have my hook, how do you expect me to set out at all?”

Te Kā groans. “Ooh, I _hate_ admitting that you’re right. It just gives me this sick, burning feeling in my stomach. You know a _different_ kind of burning than the one I feel every second of every day. Wait here.” Reaching a hand down, she pulls a chunk of volcanic rock from her barrier island and beats it against the palm of her hand, until it forms into a club like the ones Māui remembers from the southern islands: a _patu ōnewa._ She brings it back over to the duo and holds it up.

Well, it’s no hook, but Māui would be lying to himself if he said this wasn’t just about the _coolest_ thing he’s ever seen. Barely suppressing an excited squeal, he reaches out for it – but just before he can take it, Te Kā yanks it away from him.

“I will give this to you _only_ if you agree to go and do this for me. And as much as I hate you, and as hilarious as it would be to watch you failing to heft this thing, I’ll explain how this works.”

 “Your shape-shifting powers will, _unfortunately,_ function just as well with this weapon as they did with your hook. For you see, it does not matter _what_ weapon you wield, demigod, so as long as you’re able to transfer some of your magic into it.” She grins at Māui’s flabbergasted expression. “Your hook doesn’t seem that special after all, now, does it? You could’ve gotten those shape-shifting powers from any object, as long as you knew how to wield it correctly. But seeing as this is a simple _club,_ I doubt that even _you_ could screw this thing up.” She holds out the weapon to Māui again. “So, which is it, demigod? Will you take this weapon and right what is wrong, or will you refuse, and be killed alongside your little _friend_ here?”

Māui closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Because as _much_ as he can’t _stomach_ the thought of what’ll happen when Moana’s curse takes effect, and as much as he _really_ can’t stand Tamatoa…

Nothing would be worth the risk of sacrificing Moana’s life. Especially not something that wasn’t her fault to begin with.

“Deal,” he mutters, and reaches forward to take the _patu ōnewa_ from Te Kā’s stretched out palm.

“Good,” Te Kā responds, and flicks her wrist out towards the ocean. “Now go. Your first stop will be Lalotai, to go pick up Tamatoa. _His_ curse should kick in right about… now. Good luck, little ones…” She winks. “Or not. I really couldn’t care less.”


	2. Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough four weeks for Tamatoa, ever since Māui and Moana left him high and dry in Lalotai.
> 
> It's about to get a _lot_ rougher.

It has been four weeks.

Four weeks since that semi-demi-minigod chee-hooed his way into my cavern _after a thousand years_ ; four weeks since he got his puny arse right royally _kicked_ by yours truly; four weeks since he let a tiny human child named Moana wreak havoc on my life. Seriously, man. I think this whole incident has put me off eating Moanas for life – which is so _unfair_ , because they’re delicious.

Anyhow, here I am: lying upside down, staring forlornly at the same patch of ocean, watching fish and the odd monster float by. Wow, I’m… I’m making this situation sound a lot more idyllic than it is, aren’t I? Because it’s not. It’s terrible, actually: not only is my head beginning to spin, but I’ve _also_ not eaten a shred of anything during this entire time. Fish don’t just _fall_ on my head. At least, they don’t _anymore_ – not now that my shell, and ergo my whole glittering collection, is well out-of-sight. Add the fact that I’m on the brink of a growth spurt, and, well… This really, absolutely _sucks_ , man. Believe it or not, I _never_ reckoned on spending the twilight of my teenage centuries this way. Eating, yes. Admiring my sheen. Practicing my song and waiting for my voice to cra- _settle_. Cracking is, it’s undignified. _My_ voice doesn’t do that. I am the _picture_ of dignity.

…Well, I _was_.

I don’t think I’m being dramatic when I say that this is quite possibly the _worst_ thing that’s happened to me in the last thousand years, ever since Māui– ever since my leg got ripped off. That’s the incredible thing about him, isn’t it? Every time I _think_ he’s topped himself, that he can’t _possibly_ become an even bigger arsehole than he already is, he _always_ manages to surprise me.

As for the rest of Lalotai, well, _they’re_ arseholes too, just walking (and slithering, and oozing) past me as if I were just a part of the scenery. Funny-looking rock over there, giant clamshell to your right, ooh, don’t forget to give the upside-down island-sized crab a dismissive glance on your way out of here. Hmph. If any of _them_ were stranded, _I_ would’ve helped them out. Granted, I’d _also_ have eaten them afterward – but that’s neither here nor there.

There’s one exception to that rule. For the last few days, a tiny taniwha – a runt, really, not even over seven feet tall – has been hovering at the edge of my vision. At least… I _think_ it’s a taniwha. I’ve never been able to see very well, and being upside down really doesn’t help matters much, you know. It has never spoken. The thing just sort of… hangs around, looking blurry. I’ve considered asking it what it’s doing here and if it can help me up – but haven’t been able to steel myself up for it. I mean, what if I spend hours talking to it, and it turns out it’s just been a vaguely lizard-shaped rock this whole time? I’d _die_ of embarrassment, and let me tell you, that is _not_ the way I want to go.

But. I mean. This is… it’s getting very awkward, actually. I feel so _exposed_. I don’t know what it’s thinking, because I can’t see its expression. What if it’s mentally laughing at me or something of the sort? Ooh, I _hate_ being a laughingstock.

Or maybe it wants to eat me. That would be nice, because then it would have to climb up on me and I could eat _it_ instead. I’ve never particularly enjoyed the taste of taniwha: sort of a stale-fish flavour. Really quite unpleasant – but it would do in a pinch.

…That’s it, I have to ask. This is killing me. I clear my throat and deepen my voice for good measure. “Hey. Hey, you.”

The taniwha doesn’t respond.

“You there,” I continue. “Taniwha. Blob. Thing.”

No reply.

“What are you doing?”

Silence. Oh Tangaroa, it really _is_ a rock. Or perhaps a figment of my imagination. That would be just wonderful, wouldn’t it? Not only does Māui, the demigod of tricksters and lies, leave me _totally_ stranded, but he also gives me hallucinations. I groan, slumping back down and letting my eyes droop into the sand–

“Nothing much, cuz. Just hanging around, eh?”

The voice startles me so much I let out a _very majestic and not-at-all girlish_ cry. “You _are_ real,” I say in abject relief, then pause. “Or… are you? It would be so _typical_ of Māui to give me a hallucination that talks back.”

“I don’t know what you’re going on about,” the taniwha says. “I assure you, I’m not a hallucination, and I have no connexion with… whatever a Māui is. You pissed on okolehao, bro? Or just a bit thick?”

“I liked you better when you were silent,” I grumble, crossing my claws.

“Just for that, cuz, I’m not helping you up,” the taniwha snorts.

Wait, _what_? “Hey, hey, come on,” I say, backtracking, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… it’s been a rough four weeks, alright? Cut me some slack here.”

The thing roars in laughter. “I’m just taking the piss, mate! I’m not helping the likes of you up. I’m not pōrangi, bro. I don’t fancy getting eaten.”

“I wouldn’t eat you,” I object, but it’s half-hearted at best.

“That… wasn’t convincing at all, mate.”

It does have a point. I- I totally would eat it. Probably wouldn’t even bother to chew. I’m really _starving_ , man, and I’ve never been able to lie about anything food-related. “…Fine. If you’re not going to flip me over, why are you here? You can’t eat me, you’re, what, a seventh of my size–”

“I’m bored,” the taniwha says simply. “Your situation is entertaining.”

Oh, Tangaroa. It _is_ laughing at me. This is precisely what I’d been afraid of. “This is _not_ funny!” I snarl, lunging forward and snapping a pincer in the direction of the taniwha. “When I get up, I _will_ mercilessly devour you!”

“If,” the taniwha says, sounding irritatingly amused. “ _If_ you get up, which doesn’t appear to be _any_ time soon, cuz. And by the way, you just tried to kill a rock. I’m over _here_ , egg.”

(Ruaumoko damn my eyesight. It’s so _vexing_ , not being able to see more than a few feet in front of myself. Once, when I was especially pissed off about it, I actually tried drafting a mechanism to correct my eyes: a sort of pair of glass magnifying bubbles I could put over them, you see, hooked together by a sparkly rope and…

You know what? Never mind. It didn’t work, anyway.)

“Don’t call me egg!” I yell, and my voice absolutely did _not_ jump an entire octave on the last word.

The taniwha is openly laughing now. “Oh, bro, it’s cracking, eh? I remember back when mine did, a couple thousand years ago. Don’t worry, it’ll pass… eventually.”

I let out a wordless roar and violently lunge again, putting _every ounce of my strength_ into the movement. And that’s when three things happen at once:

Tahi: Miraculously, incredibly, unbelievably, I crash face-down onto the sand. “Aw _yes_ ,” I breathe, standing shakily up. “Now, what were you saying about me being an egg… _bro_?”

Rua: The taniwha scrambles backward, a delectable look of utter terror on its face. “Nothing, mate, I swear!” it squeaks. Its voice is higher than mine at this point, and I find that _incredibly_ satisfying. “Don’t eat me, cuz, I did you a favour! I- I motivated you to flip yourself over, you should be _grateful_ –”

Toru: I am closing in on the pest, just about to snip its spine in two with one pincer, when a deep rumble issues through the area. We both freeze as heat rises around us, searing every plant in the vicinity into hot ash. “What–” the taniwha begins, but the words choke off in its throat.

The air shimmers orange, and then a woman’s voice – faceless, disembodied, ethereal – begins to chant. It’s such an achingly _familiar_ voice, but I cannot for the life of me recall where or when I’ve encountered it before. “Can you hear that?” I whisper.

“Hear _what_?” the taniwha replies.

“The voice.”

“Mate, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The _voice_ ,” I repeat, trying and failing to conjure up the proper words to describe it–

– _Then_ , right then: that’s when the pain hits. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Getting my leg brutally torn off was a gentle tickle compared to this, the fire that shoots up my limbs and through my eyes, filling my entire field of vision with red flame. My head pounds like it’s being pelted with pōwhatu. Dimly, I can hear myself screaming – but I feel oddly disconnected from the sound, as if I have been ripped from my own body. I can _feel_ Hine-nui-te-pō’s teeth on me, slicing through my shell like coconut cream. Every part of me is cracking and shifting and melting together, and I am doing something I haven’t done in years: I am praying, praying to every God and Goddess and begging them to strike me down now and end this. I _want_ to die, just to be able to feel nothing.

And then. Then. Just as I have finished my last prayer to Ranginui, the pain vaporises. The voice falls silent, my vision clears – well, as much as it _can_ clear – and I find myself on my back once again, staring up at the ocean and trembling in sheer relief. “Oh, Tangaroa,” I whisper hoarsely, rubbing a claw against my underside.

Except– except it lands on something _soft_ and _warm_ , absolutely nothing like my heavy armour. I raise my pincer up and stare at it, bewildered. I am still dizzy and shaky, so my vision is worse than usual – but even so, I can tell that there is something wrong. The outline of my claw doesn’t look anything like it should: it’s so _small_ , and the pointy tip is gone, replaced by–

By…

 _Pokokōhua_.

No. No. NO. Oh, Tangaroa, no. I know what this is, I’ve seen it so many times on my dinners. It’s a _hand_. I have a _hand_ – no, wait. _Two_ hands. Even worse. Queasiness worms into my stomach as I gingerly run my– eurgh, _fingers_ – across my face to confirm my worst fear:

_I’ve got a nose._

A nose, and lips, and eyes that aren’t on stalks. And my head is _fluffy_ with hair: long dark curls that, when I tug on a lock of them and squint closely, look sickeningly like Māui’s.

Oh, Rangi. Have I– have I somehow swapped bodies with him? Oh, Hine-nui-te-pō, _please_ smite me now. I’d even take the pain over this. I can’t be stuck in his body forever. I would die. I would do it _myself_ , I’d wander around pleading with monsters to eat me and put me out of my misery…

Then it strikes me: I can’t be Māui, for a number of reasons. For one: the skin of my stomach and upper limbs is smooth and brown and almost completely tattoo-free: only a few bands of black ink on each of my wrists. And, thank Rangi, absolutely _none_ of them move around – not like that tiny eldritch abomination he refers to as “Mini-Māui”. I also distinctly remember him being quite a bit less squishy, a few shades lighter-skinned, and _far_ smellier.

Alright. I am not Māui, which is… reassuring. But I _am_ also trapped in a squishy, tiny, weak little human form, which is _so_ much less comforting. I mean, humans have only _four_ limbs. _Four_. That’s… that is _five-and-a-half_ limbs less than I’m used to having. _How_ am I supposed to _get around_?

And, more importantly, how on Te Fiti’s green Earth did this even _happen_? What– why–

A reptilian shadow looms over me, interrupting my stream of thought. Oh. I’d totally forgotten about the taniwha. Evidently, though, it hasn’t forgotten about _me_ – and the look it’s giving me now is making me extraordinarily uncomfortable. “Well,” it says. “Well, well, _well_. What have we here.”

“Hey, man,” I begin, but it cuts me off.

“I seem to recall you saying that I couldn’t possibly eat you, seeing as you are – _were_ – so much larger than me,” it continues. “Furthermore, I also recall _you_ trying to eat _me_ , not more than ten minutes ago.”

“I was hungry!” I protest, using my upper limbs to slide back across the sand and toward my cavern.

“So am I,” the taniwha says, eyes glinting. “And you look just _delicious_ , eh cuz?”

Oh, Rangi, this is not the direction I’d hoped the conversation would take. “I’m not!” I say, panicked. “I taste really awful, trust me–”

But, paying my words no heed, it pounces at me, fangs bared and scales shifting from green to red. A shriek slips out of me before I can swallow it down, and I just barely manage to roll out of the way. The taniwha lands lightly on its feet, mouth snapping closed a few inches from my face.

I try to push myself upright, balance on my lower limbs and move fast like I’ve seen humans do… and that’s when I see it: below the joint, my left leg isn’t a leg at all. It’s a whittled stick of brilliantly green pounamu, flecked with specks of brown and gold. For a moment, I pause to stare at it in admiration–

–Then I remember where I am, and _what_ exactly I’m running from, and quickly shake myself out of it. There’ll be plenty of time to admire _this_ new development later – _after_ I escape getting eaten by a, quite frankly, _really_ _rude_ taniwha.

It’s beginning to stalk me again, and this time its claws actually scrape against the stone point of my new leg. I give up on attempting to stand and drop back down onto all four limbs again, moving toward the hole in my cavern wall as fast as I can in this jiggly, unwieldy, absolutely exposed body.

“You’re not going to make it,” the taniwha sings, glee threading through its tone. “You can’t run from me, little morsel. You don’t even have _two_ legs like most humans.”

I really, _really_ hate to admit this, but… I’m beginning to think it’s got a point. The opening is _so_ far away now that I’m tiny, and I’ve got absolutely no way of moving faster. If I simply crawl, it’ll overtake me long before I reach safety.

No. You know what?

I need… a _diversion_.

And, as I glance frantically around at the pieces of glitter scattered around me – all the trinkets that formerly adorned my shell – the barest beginnings of an idea seep into my head. “Hey, wait!” I yell, picking up something which resembles half a solid gold coconut and waving it over my head. “If you eat me _now_ , you’ll never discover the, er… the secret!”

The taniwha pauses. “The _secret_?” it says.

“Of… my collection,” I continue, picking up speed. “You know I’m famous around Lalotai for my treasure. There’s got to be a reason why I’ve amassed so _much_ , right?”

“Yes, it’s because you’re completely insane,” the taniwha says drily. “You can’t even eat this stuff. It’s worth absolutely nothing.”

“Or… _is it_?” I say, doing my best to stave off my nervousness. “What if I told you… that all of this… is… _magic_? Given to me by the Gods themselves.”

“Get off the seaweed. You’re lying,” the taniwha replies, sounding worryingly unconvinced.

“I swear I’m not!” I say. “But look. They– they only work for me, being divine gifts and all. If you spare me, I can– I can show you how _each and every one of them_ works. You’d have _limitless power_. Don’t you want limitless power, man?”

For a terrifying thirty seconds, the taniwha is absolutely stone-faced. It regards me impassively… and then, finally, thank Punga, it _shrugs_. “Alright, bro,” it says. “I won’t eat you… yet. But you _will_ show me all the secrets, _and_ do whatever I tell you – and if I find out you’re lying, well…” It grins. “I will tear off each of your remaining limbs, one by one, _while you’re still living_. Then I’ll build a hangi, and roast them _right_ in front of your eyes. Understood, cuz?”

“Absolutely, man,” I say, suppressing a shudder. “I– I completely get it. And I swear I’m not lying. I’d _never_ lie about my treasure.”

“ _My_ treasure now, mate,” the taniwha says, giving me a toothy smirk.

 _Never_! the voice in my head leaps to say, but I know better than to express _that_ thought. “Of course,” I reply, nodding furiously and absolutely _not_ shedding a few tears. “Your treasure. Yes.”

“So? I’m waiting.”

“What?”

“The first secret, cuz,” the taniwha snaps. “Get your arse into gear and start _talking_ … or I start ripping,” It flexes its claws threateningly, but I don’t need a second warning.

“First lesson. Alright then,” I say, mind racing. “Our first lesson will be… a simple one. There’s– there’s a bit of a learning curve to get through before we can reach the _really_ complicated magical stuff, so we’ll start with…” I cast around for something, anything I can say that’ll sound believable. “…Fish magic.”

“ _Fish_ magic,” the taniwha repeats. “What–”

“Quite a lot of these trinkets have, er, special fish-summoning properties,” I continue, praying to Tangaroa that this ruse will work. “I never even had to leave my cavern, you know, because I was covered in enough of these to have a steady supply of food.”

The taniwha considers my words. “So if I _wear_ these buggered things, fish will just _come_ to me, eh? I’ll never have to hunt again? Sweet _as_!”

“ _You_ can’t,” I say hastily. “Their powers only work for me, remember? So _I’m_ going to have to wear this… well, as much of it as I can… so _I_ can attract fish. And bring them to you.”

“And how do I know you’ll do what you say, eh?” the taniwha asks, eyes narrowing.

I give him what I sincerely hope is an ingratiating smile. “As I said, I’d _never_ lie about m– _your_ treasure.”

“Hm,” the taniwha says, and waves a dismissive claw. “Alright. Go and work your _fish magic_. I’ll expect you back in twenty minutes… and you’d better have _plenty_ of kai, otherwise you’re the replacement. Got it?”

 _Tangaroa,_ I think, as I scramble amongst my trinkets for something I can cover myself with. _…Uncle_. He’s always insisted I call him that, but he’s never actually explained what the word means. I’m _fairly_ sure it’s a type of fish, though. Sort of weird, if you ask me – but hey, whatever floats his waka. _Please let this work. Don’t… choose right now to make all the fish disappear, and then claim it’s one of your Learning Experiences. I don’t need a Learning Experience right now. I just need to_ not _get eaten – especially not by_ this _thing._

One of the worst aspects of being a tiny squishy human is that it’s so _tough_ to hold up heavy things for a long time. I’m forced to mournfully discard a humongous beaten gold disc _and_ a solid silver urn with bejeweled flower motifs, simply because both of them are larger than me. _Larger_. Than _me_. It’s a sentence I never reckoned would apply to me again, and a scowl creeps across my (horribly deformed) face. My only consolation is that _this_ squishy body is probably much larger and prettier than the average human’s. It’s got to be. Just look at my _old_ self.

Hey, you know what? I bet I look _terrifying_.

 _Yeah_.

My hand brushes against something not unlike tapa cloth. Wow. I didn’t even know I owned _cloth_. Most of it gets irreparably damaged before I can really study it properly. Seawater, you know… and the odd bloodstain, when the clothing happens to be worn by someone especially appetizing.

I extract the object from under a pile of carved bowls and hold it up, examining it in surprise. It’s not like anything I’ve seen the humans from around this area wear – the texture is different, and the fabric itself has a soft, strange shimmer to it. Most interesting, though, is the thick, sparkling gold border that wraps around the entire length of the cloth.

Well. I know why I kept _this_. It’s far too long for me to wear in its current form – so, with a pang of sorrow, I rip off a section and tie it firmly around my middle, mimicking the way the humans wear their lava-lavas.

Mimicking _humans_. Eurgh. The thought makes me sick.

“Ten minutes left, cuz,” the taniwha calls – and I scramble into action, snatching up a handful of little glittering ropes and baubles which I place around my neck, upper limbs, and foot-joints. Foot-joints? That doesn’t sound right. What did Māui call… oh yes, _ankles_. Sliding the last band of gold around my _ankle_ , I take a few seconds to admire my handiwork. Well, what I can see of it, anyhow. It’s totally irritating, man, having eyes that _don’t_ swivel in a full circle.

Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I’m– I’m _almost_ adequately shiny. Hey… hey, this could _work_. I just need to find a way to boost myself up to my original height – make sure the fish really see me.

 _Climb_. I need to climb. There’s a stone pillar just a short walk from my cavern: I can haul myself there and scale it. Maybe. It’s– it’s been a while since I’ve climbed anything. Over fourteen hundred _years_ , actually – and back then I was three feet long and had _eight_ functional legs. Now I’ve got _one_ -and-a-half. Wow. It sounds so much more pitiful when I phrase it that way.

“Five minutes!” the taniwha says. “And I don’t see any fish flopping at your face, bro. What’s taking so long?”

“Just… just summoning up enough energy,” I say desperately, edging toward the pillar. “This won’t work if I’m drained, or– or don’t have the right mana. You know?”

The taniwha’s tongue flicks out. “And _where_ are you going?”

“Me?” I ask, widening my eyes. “Over to that pillar. To… perform, er, the last step in the… ritual. It’ll ensure that only the _juiciest_ fish will be summoned. But it’s going to take time for me to reach and scale–”

“Ten minutes,” the taniwha concedes, eyes still locked on me. I shake off my apprehension and heave myself upright, wobbling slightly in an attempt to balance my weight evenly on my pounamu leg and my flesh one. Slowly – but not _too_ slowly, time is ticking and I really don’t fancy being in a hangi – I take one step after another, upper limbs flung out wide as I move.

The walk is longer than I’d remembered – or perhaps it just _seems_ longer, given my smaller size. By the time I reach the pillar, I’m breathing heavily and there’s some sort of strange, saline liquid leaking from my body. Eurgh, is this _normal_ in humans? Emitting peculiar fluids under stress? I shouldn’t be surprised. They’re really revolting little creatures. Absolutely delicious, but _totally_ disgusting.

Ooh. I’m having serious second thoughts about climbing this. It is so much _bigger_ than it seems at first glance: the smooth tūhua rises from the ground to the very bottom of the ocean, its top nearly brushing the water. It’s… a very long fall, and I catch myself wondering which would hurt more: being slow-roasted alive, or plunging off _that_?

“Three minutes!”

I give the pillar a trepidatious look as I attempt to conjure up memories of the way I climbed coconut trees as a child: claws forward, one set of legs around the trunk, lower legs boosting me up. It had come so _naturally_ back then – but as I tentatively wrap my upper limbs around the tūhua, I already know this is going to be _anything_ but natural. The lack of extra legs throws me off, and my pounamu limb keeps slipping when it comes into contact with the stone.

 “One minute, cuz. Or should I say, _kai_ ,” laughs the taniwha.

Ooh. Ooh, that was _awful_. Trust a _taniwha_ to have the worst sense of humour in existence. “That comment was in _extremely_ poor taste,” I retort before I can stop myself.

Bad move. The taniwha gnashes its teeth and bounds forward, reaching the base of the pillar in a downright _unfair_ amount of time. One claw slashes upward, striking my pounamu leg with a dull thud. Heart beating like a drum, I shimmy upward, furiously trying to stop myself from sliding down right into the taniwha’s arms. It’s– it’s not working. This is how I’m going to die: tiny, squishy, and bereft of treasure. Ooh, it’s so _ignoble_.

And right then, at my very darkest moment, my true nadir, I hear _it_ – a high-pitched, enthusiastic, unfortunately all-too-familiar whoop. The _one_ sound which could possibly make this situation even worse:

“ _Chee-hoo_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello, hello! From Paper's ditzy co-writer and partner <3 comes, at long last, the second chapter of Kimi Hamuti! The prologue was in third person, but from now on chapters will alternate between Tamatoa's and Māui's perspectives. I certainly enjoyed writing this (although poor Tama may not appreciate the situation I've stuck him in) – and I hope you have fun reading it!

**Author's Note:**

> Read the conversation which inspired it here (in which Paper is Māui and Pāpaka is Te Kā): https://the-real-te-ka.tumblr.com/post/165241846453/m%C4%81ui-you-little-wretch-i-have-words-for-you


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